


never wanted you like this

by TheBizarreHairTrio



Series: saving people, hunting things (the lobby remix) [4]
Category: The Lobby
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse (Supernatural), Alternate Universe - Supernatural (TV) Fusion, Angst, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Episode: s05e04 The End, Not Beta Read, Other, Unhealthy Relationships, anyways future gerard is a dick., the endverse gives much inspiration for angst, what do you do when an angel loves you so much they fall from heaven for you?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27056338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBizarreHairTrio/pseuds/TheBizarreHairTrio
Summary: What does it mean for an angel to fall from Heaven for you?
Relationships: Judas (The Lobby)/Others, Judas/Gerard (The Lobby)
Series: saving people, hunting things (the lobby remix) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1968754
Kudos: 1





	never wanted you like this

**Author's Note:**

> the endverse is PAIN and it gives me MANY OPPORTUNITIES

“Dick,” mutters Gerard under his breath as his future self leaves. He pries a nail from the floorboards to pick the lock on the handcuffs, unlocking them swiftly and dropping them to the floor. Massaging his wrists, he slips out of the cabin and glances around at the camp, inhabitants skirting around him with eyes downcast like he's someone to be afraid of. He presses his mouth into a thin line, uncertainty swirling in his gut. 

He’d been with his future self long enough to get a read on him, and he didn't like what he saw. The him of this time period was reminiscent of Dad, ruthless and demanding and resentful. Uncaring for the people around them beyond what they could contribute, beyond their worth as soldiers under his command. How could he become that person? 

It dawns on him, suddenly. Future Gerard, expression bitter, when he talked about how he lost Dave and Noah in Detroit, the emptiness is his tone when he said he hadn't talked to his brothers in years. Gerard’s life has always revolved around Dave and later, Noah. Not speaking to either of them for five years, only to find out they died?

It would break him.

He's pulled out of his realization by the unexpected sound of Chuck’s voice, and he glances at the prophet, distractedly flipping through papers. 

“Hey, Gerard, you got a second?” 

He must have mistaken him for his future self. “No—yes. I guess. Hi, Chuck.”

Chuck grins nervously at him. “Hi. So, uh, listen, we're pretty good on canned goods for now, but we're down to next to nothing on perishables and—and hygiene supplies. People are not gonna be happy about this. So, what do you think we should do?”

Gerard freezes up, before covering up his hesitation with a cough. “Uh, well. I don't know, maybe share? I guess?”

Chuck frowns at him, confusion swimming in his eyes. “Wait, aren't you supposed to be on a mission?”

“Absolutely,” says Gerard nervously, “and I will be. But first,” he scans the camp, looking for a familiar shock neon teal hair and coming up with nothing, “is Judas… here?”

The prophet raises an eyebrow at him. “Yeah? I don't think Judas is going anywhere.”

Gerard’s brows wrinkles in confusion, before he shakes his head. “Point me in the right direction?” he asks hopefully.

Bemused, Chuck points in the direction of a cabin, shrugging to himself as Gerard makes his way over there.

The first thing that hits him is the smell. It stinks of drugs and nicotine, alcohol and stale sex, and Gerard chokes on it, claps a hand over his nose and tries to breathe through his mouth. He barely hears anything over the pounding in his head, only sees Judas sat in a circle of people, hair dark and undyed with an unfocused look to their eyes. They look up at him and smile, making him flinch from the wrongness of it all. 

“Excuse me, dears,” they say, and he notes the higher pitch their voice takes on, jarring when he only ever remembered them speaking with a scratchy, deeper tone, like they just gargled nails. “I think I need to confer with our fearless leader for a minute. Why not go get washed up for the orgy?”

Sputtering at what he just heard, Gerard tries to collect himself, watching the angel stand and stretch their back with a pleased sound. “What are you, a hippie?”

Judas hums, pushing their shades up to settle above their forehead. “Thought you gotten over trying to label me.”

“What?” Gerard shakes his hand. “I don't wanna know. Judas, we gotta talk.”

“Whoa.” Judas blinks vacantly. “Strange.”

“What?”

They inspect him closely, and Gerard takes a step back, wary of this Judas who stinks of drugs and alcohol, humanity clinging to them like a bad stench. “You're… not you?” they mutter, half to themselves. “Not now you, anyways.”

“No!” he says hastily, before correcting himself. “I mean, yeah. Exactly.”

“What year are you from?”

“2009.”

Judas circles him, dull orange eyes never looking away from his form. “Who did this to you? Was it Zachariah?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

“Fascinating.”

“Yeah, it's fucking fascinating,” he snaps, tired of this future where he’s an asshole and Judas is a hippie junkie. “Now why don't you strap on your angel wings and fly me back to my page on the calendar?”

Judas laughs, high and bitter, and he flinches back. “Wish I could just, uh, strap on my wings, but sorry boss, no dice.”

“What, are you stoned?” he asks, voice sarcasm laden.

He doesn't get the joke he's expecting. “Uh, yeah, generally?” they reply, eyebrow raised. 

He exhales quietly, disappointed and with the sinking feeling that this is all his fault. “What happened to you?” _What went wrong?_

There's a smile on Judas’ lips, cloyingly sweet and biting. “Life.”

* * *

Gerard’s back hits the wall as his future self shoves him back into the cabin. “What the hell was that?” future him asks, furious. “Why didn't you _stay put?”_

“What the hell was that?” he asks, incredulous. “What do you mean, you just shot a man in cold blood!”

Future him sighs, put upon, and Gerard seethes at his condescending expression. “We were in an open quarantine zone,” he says slowly, as if explaining something to a child. “Got ambushed by some Croats on our way out.” He rolls his eyes as his past self’s uncomprehending expression. “Croats. Croatoans. One of them infected Yeager.”

“How do you know?” demands Gerard, still frustrated, by what he saw and how his future self is acting now.

“‘Cause after a few years of this, I know. I started seeing symptoms about a half an hour ago. Wasn't gonna be long before he flipped. I didn't see the point in troubling a good man with bad news,” explains future him flippantly.

“‘Troubling a good man’?” asks Gerard incredulously. “You just shot him in front of your people with no warning! Don't you think that freaked them out a little?”

“It's 2014,” replies his future self, shrugging. “Plugging some Croat, it's called commonplace. Trading words with my goddamn clone— _that_ might've freaked them out a little.”

He exhales shakily, brushing his hair away from where it sticks against his forehead. “Alright, look—”

“No, _you_ look,” snaps future him. “This isn't your time. It's mine. You don't make the decisions, I do. So, when I say _stay put,_ you _stay fucking put._ Got it?”

He raises his hands in surrender. “Okay, I got it. Your operation. I’m not trying to mess you—me—us up here.”

Future Gerard sighs. “I know.”

They're silent for a couple moments, before he works up the courage to say what's been sitting heavy in his gut.

“What's… wrong with Judas?” he asks, quiet.

His future self laughs angrily, pours himself a drink. “You mean their fucking stoner habits?” he asks meanly, sneering. 

“Yeah, that, but… what's up with their mojo?”

He stares at him, hard eyes with a shred of self hatred and blame in them. “They didn't tell you?” he asks bitterly, throwing back a drink. “Judas is human now. Lost their mojo the day they decided to stay.” He scoffs. “Should’ve left; they're fucking _useless_ now, just dead weight,” he spats.

His fists clench at his sides. “Don't say that,” he says lowly. “You know why they stayed.” _They stayed for us,_ he doesn't say. Doesn't have to say. It hovers in the air between them, even without being said aloud.

His future self glares at him, cold and uncaring. “They should’ve left,” he spits, getting to his feet and leaving the cabin, slamming the door behind him. 

Gerard sits, thinks of Judas, unfocused eyes and bitter laughs, of his future self, angry and hateful at everything, but most of all himself, and exhales shakily.

He doesn't want this future.

* * *

Gerard sucks in a breath the moment his future sets the Colt on the table, leaning forward to stare at it.

“That's it?” asks Risa, one of the residents of the camp. “That's the Colt?”

“If anything can kill Lucifer, this is it,” says future Gerard lowly. 

Risa hums, skeptical. “Great. Have we got anything that can _find_ Lucifer?” 

Future Gerard scoffs. “We don't have to find Lucifer. We know where he is. The demon we caught last week, he was one of the big guy’s entourage. He knew.”

She folds her arms over her chest, raising an eyebrow. “So, a demon tells you where Satan's gonna be, and you just believe it?”

“Oh, trust me,” snorts future Gerard. “He wasn't lying.” 

“And you know this how?”

Judas makes an amused sound. “Our fearless leader, I'm afraid, is all too well schooled in the art of getting to the truth.”

Gerard blinks, exhaling slowly in shock. “Torture? Oh, so, we’re torturing again.” Future him stares at him, narrow eyed, and he grimaces, raising his hands in surrender. “I mean, that's—that’s good. Classy.”

Judas laughs, even as future Gerard glares at them. “What?” they drawl, rolling a shoulder in a shrug. “I like past you.” Their words take on a taunting lilt.

Future Gerard snarls angrily under his breath before collecting himself. “Lucifer is here,” he says shortly, pointing to a place on the map. “Now. He's been there since he defeated Michael. I know the block and I know the building.”

Judas gazes at the spot he indicated. “Oh, good,” they say. “Right in the middle of a hot zone.”

“Crawling with Croats, yeah,” future Gerard replies waspishly. “You saying my plan is reckless?”

“Are you saying we, uh, walk in straight up the driveway, past all the demons and the Croats, and we shoot the devil?” they ask.

“Yes,” says future Gerard, voice hard.

They visibly mull it over, before shrugging languidly. “Okay, if you don't like, uh, ‘reckless’, I could use ‘insouciant’, maybe.”

“Are you coming?” future him asks, instead of replying.

Judas’ lips quirk. “Anything for you,” they say, and Gerard always thought the phrase was sweet, devoted, but the way Judas says it—

It’s _mocking,_ mean, a taunt on their tongue, and future him’s hand snaps out, whipcord fast, snags a fistful of their hair and yanks, his face contorted with rage. And Judas _laughs_ in his face, goading him on, the _wrongness_ of it all turning Gerard’s blood ice cold. He glances at Risa, and her eyes are averted, expression irritated, but unsurprised.

Gerard stares at the way Judas taunts his future self into tangled, angry knots, and thinks _oh._

_I did this to them._

When Judas and Risa finally leave to mobilize the rest of the camp, Gerard’s future self takes him aside.

“Why are you taking me?” asks Gerard, half trying to distract himself from earlier events and half genuinely curious.

His future self rolls his eyes. “Relax, you’ll be fine. Zach’s looking after you, right?”

He grits his teeth, glares at future him. “That's not what I mean. _Why_ are you taking me?”

Future him pauses, huffs out a breath. “Okay, fine.” He stares at him, eyes narrowed. “You're coming because there's something I want you to see. Some _one.”_

“Someone…?”

“I want you to see our brother.” He pauses, closing his eyes. “I want you to see Dave.”

Gerard startles, turns to stare him in the eye. “But you said—”

“Dave and Noah didn't die in Detroit,” future him interrupts, tone angry and hard. “They said ‘yes’.”

There's horror twisting in his gut, and he raises his hands, whether to cover his ears or just make him _stop talking_ , he didn't know. “No, they wouldn't…” 

“They _did,”_ snaps his future self, harsh. “Michael and Lucifer, wearing our brothers to prom. They wore them, and Michael _lost._ Noah is _dead._ He was just a backup meatsuit anyways.”

“Why would they do that?” he whispers, looking at his future self, pleading for answers. “Why?”

He just scoffs, bitter. “Wish I knew. But we don't have a choice. It's in him, and it's not getting out. Killing Noah didn't even fucking stop him. And we gotta kill him, Gerard. And you gotta see it—the whole damn thing, how bad it gets—so you can do it differently.”

“What do you mean?”

“Zach said he's gonna bring you back, right? To ‘09?” He waits for Gerard's nod before continuing. “When you get back… Say ‘yes’. Got it? You say ‘yes’ to Michael, before they get to Noah.”

Gerard shakes his head rapidly. “You can't possibly… You can't be serious! If I let him in, Michael fights the Devil and torches half the planet as collateral!”

“Look around you, Gerard!” shouts his future self. “Half the planet’s better than no planet, which is what we have now! If I could go back… I’d say ‘yes’ in a heartbeat, before Noah could.”

“No, there's gotta be another way. I can't just let Doomsday happen.” 

Future him laughs, bitter with it. “Yeah, that's what I thought, too. But Doomsday is happening, whether you like it or not. I was cocky. I thought I could win, no matter the odds. But I was wrong, Gerard. So I’m begging you, say ‘yes’.”

They stare at each other, one pleading and the other horrified.

Future Gerard laughs again, shaking his head in despair. “Who am I kidding? You won't say ‘yes’. Because I didn't. And that's just not who we are, is it?”

He turns away, leaving Gerard behind, and he sinks to the ground, staring listlessly at his hands. 

It's worse than before, when he thought Dave and Noah went down in some epic stand against a horde of demons in Detroit. But to think they were _alive;_ to think they said _yes?_ To Michael and Lucifer? To think they let themselves be worn like a cheap suit so that Daddy Issues One and Two could duke it out and roast the planet?

He takes in a shuddering breath, getting to his feet, and goes to the first person he can think of for a distraction.

He goes to Judas.

* * *

The inside of their cabin carries traces of smoke, and Gerard takes a whiff of the air. “Are you burning incense?” he asks incredulously. 

Judas laughs, and this time it's without the bitter edge, something relaxed and languid. He wishes he could enjoy the sound without knowing why it sounds the way it does. “You always called me an altar kid,” they reply, lips wrapping around a joint. He tears his gaze away from the sight reluctantly.

He takes another sniff. “Is this frankincense?”

They wink. “You know it.” They exhale a cloud of smoke.

He grimaces, gesturing vaguely. “Judas, not that I'm glad you're not… wound up tight anymore, but what's with all the drugs and the orgies and the hippie crap?”

They laugh, the bitter edge present yet again, and shake their head. “Not an angel anymore, baby,” they say, and he flinches from the utter wrongness of the word on their tongue. It's not _babe,_ the word they let slip sometimes, shaped by a smirking mouth. It's _baby,_ a word they’d never used before, not to him or anyone. 

“What happened to you, Judas?” whispers Gerard, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of the angel—not an angel anymore, just _human_ now—slumped on the couch, feet bare and dye grown out of their hair, dark to match the circles under their eyes.

Judas laughs, something high and bitter. “You think I could leave him?” they ask softly. “You think I would ever leave him alone?” A hand reaches out, cups his cheek and draws him down to their level, their head tilted back to stare him in the face with pupils blown wide under their shades from alcohol and drugs. “There's no Heaven for me if it means leaving him.”

Sour taste on his tongue, Gerard clenches his fists and looks away, thinks of future him, cold and ruthless and uncaring, wasteful of the lives under his protection. “He's not worth it,” he says hotly.

Judas shakes their head, so loving and _human_ it's painful to see. “He is to me.” There's something broken and fragile in their voice, and Judas has always been sharp words and sharper edges like steel, but the way they look now, humanity clinging to them like a persistent stench, it's like they're shards of broken glass, enough to make you bleed but so utterly fragile in your hands.

“He doesn't _deserve_ it,” he insists, voice soft and pleading.

They idly stroke his cheekbone with their thumb, hand still cradling the side of his face. “You still think you don't deserve to be saved,” they whisper mournfully, repeating the words they once said to him all that time ago in an empty barn, terrifying and glorious to behold. 

He shudders under their touch as they cup his face with both hands, pulling him down until he braces himself against the couch, arms bracketing their head as he holds himself upright. Their eyes are clearer now, clear of the haze of drugs and alcohol, and his breath catches in his throat, because these are the eyes of the angel he first met in a dilapidated barn, the one who gripped him tight and raised him from hell. 

“You never wanna hear me say it,” they whisper, breath fanning his face. “Always leave, or yell, or shut me up before I can.” 

“Judas,” he rasps, and they're too close, eyes too intent on him to think clearly above the pounding in his head.

They smile, a quirk of the lips not drug addled or bitter, and he can't breathe around the sight of it. “I Fell for you, Gerard Winchester,” they say. “In every sense of the word.”

He trembles, shaking in their hands, and feels like the day he dug his way out of his own grave, fresh and new, unmade and reborn into something foreign, different than before.

Like clay, Judas has undone him and shaped him anew.


End file.
